By Amanda Whitaker
The Royal Wedding is taking place in London today and unlike most of the world, I am struggling to care. I am tempted to claim that the culprit behind my indifference is the glaring fact that I am not British and that I furthermore gained most of my knowledge of anything British from Harry Potter.
In actuality, however, I believe the true reasoning behind my lack of concern as to whether or not William and Kate will live happily ever after is the unfortunate concept that I am painfully not-rich. My last transaction was at a Dollar Tree. The earrings I am currently wearing cost me $4.98 on clearance at JC Penney’s. I have never extended my pinky when consuming a beverage. The fanciest restaurant I have been in was at Disney World.
Needless to say, I am pitiably and undeniably middle-class. So, it’s nothing against William and Kate, but I could not care any less if I tried. Because even if I did try and managed to find within my heart an inkling of concern for Prince Harry’s concerns about the lack of beer at the reception, it would not change the fact that I live paycheck-to-a-borrowed-20-from-my-mom-to-paycheck. And no offense to those silly Americans who glue themselves to their televisions as “Inside Edition” dedicates yet another story to whether William plans on wearing boxers or briefs as he weds the future Queen of England, but come on.
I have seen a magazine article that literally listed the statistical probability of which potential million-dollar wedding dress Kate will choose. I have overheard conversations about what music will be played during the nuptials. I’m not too distressed, because when I googled “Kate,” “Kate Gosselin” was no longer the first name that popped up, so there is something right with the world. But still, there are news stories devoted to the tea etiquette needed for the wedding. Seriously? Let’s pull ourselves together and rearrange our priorities.
Don’t get me wrong. I understand that they are just so glamorous. Every girl at some point in her life has wanted to marry a prince, and every guy at some point has wanted the opportunity to play polo.
We all want to be fancy, so we dedicate our lives to admiring fancy people. We stalk those whose lives seem to be most intriguing, or at least more intriguing than our own. It’s why my elementary school best friend and I fought over who would be the yellow Power Ranger at recess. It’s why we care about celebrities in the first place. It’s why there are dozens of Hollywood gossip magazines by the cash registers at drugstores and one lowly spot for “Time” in the reject corner by the Nicotine patches. It certainly makes sense to me, I’m just not buying it (although that just might be because I can’t afford it).
So I can’t be hypocritical and say that I don’t understand why people devote any time in their lives to wondering about such information as whether or not Kate may or may not be pregnant, but I refuse to not make fun of them.
As parting words of wisdom to those average Americans who find it necessary to dream of a day when they too will have a royal wedding, be happy with your bland, non-rich status. For if I learned anything from the 1995 Mary-Kate and Ashley film, “It Takes Two,” it’s that the orphaned tomboys raised by a somewhat financially stable Kirstie Alley are almost always more content than the rich kids forced to play Chopin at snobby catered events.
April 29, 2011
Volume LXXXI Issue 24